


human disasters

by blood_and_gore



Series: DGM fics [2]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Autism, Capitalism is utter bullshit, Classical Music, Drug Use, Executive Dysfunction, F/F, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insomnia, Kanda is kind of awful, M/M, NYC Culture, New York City, Nonbinary Alma Karma, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Wisely Kamelot, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Skinn is dead, Slow Burn, Smoking, Social Anxiety, Trans Allen Walker, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Wisely Kamelot, Transitioning, Trauma, Trichotillomania, but that changes, music history references, romanticizing the music industry, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-01-15 12:04:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18498589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blood_and_gore/pseuds/blood_and_gore
Summary: Milennium Records and the Black Order are two of the biggest up-and-coming rival record labels. pianist Allen Walker quit the Order to drift when his old "mentor" died. and The Noah, recently back from their hiatus, need a new piano player.literally just a shitty bandfic with me projecting on the characters.





	1. i've got a lot of issues

**Author's Note:**

> all chapter titles from my own unfinished lyrics/poetry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after running into the same person several times, flirting quite a bit, and then getting cast in a show with them, i started to write a song about it. that song turned into a short prose bit, which turned into a fanfic, which turned into... this fanfic. this is the meet-cute chapter. after this, it gets somewhat heavy, and there are a lot of potential triggers; the tags will be updated as i write this.

They first meet (in the audience) at a concert in lower Manhattan (cheap tickets, standing room only.)

Allen can't see the stage from where he first goes to stand, and moves to another spot halfway through the second song; the crowd's thick and he's squished between four different people. Ah, but then there's luck: an hour in, the man on his left walks away to the bar. Allen fills the space before anyone else does.

The man comes back, and he starts to step backwards again.

"No, it's fine. You're shorter than me anyway."

(He knows he looks like a girl today, knows his clothes and pronoun pin don't compensate for the lack of the binder he took off after nine hours of work rehearsal. He _knows_ the man is trying to flirt, dysphoria screams it out like a voice in his head, and it hurts to know he's seen as female for the entirety of their quick conversation and the rest of the concert.)

After, he asks if the man knows which way the merch table is. The answer is no. (He finds it on his way out, blows forty-five dollars on a hoodie saying "innocence" in looping cursive.)

...

They next meet at a club with a dress code that asks for "unusual" rather than "formal" less than three days later.

(Allen's eyeshadow is red and his lipstick is black. His chest is bound to show a flat chest, his sleeves are short to show the tattoos on his arm, and he is comfortable with the world. Knives are carried in his pockets. Cards are counted in his hands and he wins enough money to pay a full month's rent.)

The man (well, _person_ , Allen of all people should know better than to assume) wears ill-fitting jeans and a ragged white shirt, glasses ten years out of fashion. Only slightly less ragged than the other night, and barely appropriate for the current location. He (they?) doesn't recognize Allen, which makes it even more fun to cheat him out of his outfit. He gives it all back, of course.

...

Tyki sees the boy from the club a week after their little card game. It's the gray area between the Heights and West Harlem, between Lero's office and a studio he hates, and his meeting with the Earl was not supposed to last until evening but it did and now he's walking to the nearest station and cursing the train schedule under his breath.

The boy (well, _person_ , Tyki really should know better than to assume) has the same eyeshadow on. That, combined with a shock of bleached hair, leaves little doubt it's the same person.

Tyki gets on the train. The boy does too, but in the next compartment over, out of sight. (Out of sight, out of mind. Right?)

.

"You can't seriously expect me to work with The Noah."

"Why not?" Adam asks. "They may have a bit of a reputation, but let's face it, so do you." At the look on Allen's face, he sighs a bit before adjusting his face into the best pout he can manage. "Please?"

"What the fuck. Please stop making that face." Allen shakes his head.

"Think of the publicity. Even if you don't join the band, just play a couple gigs and your plays will sell out like that." Adam snaps his fingers. "I'm your semi-manager, I'm their manager. It's business."

"Fine, I'll meet up with them. But only 'cause you're giving me food. And 'cause Wisely's cool."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Free Real Estate voice) it's bad writing


	2. stories too often told

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one.

Road, contrary to public opinion, ( _especially the articles on those damn "indie" sites. what, can't they_ not _look into her personal medical records?_ ) is not high all the time. She does, however, have personality quirks which are nicely resolved by a bit of substance use here and there.

She's covered in cigarette burns and track marks, yeah. She's also the best guitarist of her fucking generation.

...

Wisely, contrary to public opinion ( _is he a girl? is he a boy?_ they all care so much what's in his pants when it's right there in the lyrics) doesn't want to be any one thing, even when the weight of the world settles behind his forehead and throbs like the world's worst migraine. (He gets enough of them to know, and painkillers aren't difficult to find.)

His voice is a clear, pure mezzo that can shriek and belt equally, and he might not be the best singer of his generation but that's fine.

...

Skinn Bolic left the band. Skinn Bolic was already bound to crash and burn. Skinn Bolic was already bound to crash and burn, and everybody knew it.

(Adam is the Earl onstage, royalty in a bizarre hat at a grand pianos in a million different stadiums. He found Skinn's body, horrible and bloody on the apartment floor, and the remaining members of The Noah will not die like that. He will not let them.)

...

Lulu knows better than to worry over a few callous, dumb kids who want to be rock stars. If she worried about every band she worked with, she'd have died of grief years ago.

It still freaks her out to see the dead look in Wisely's eyes when he isn't onstage or rehearsing. It jars her to see each new puncture on Road's arms. It scares her, the way Tyki talks about living two separate lives, one with the gangs and the other performing.

She should know better than to worry about a manager and executive, one who should know better himself than to get close, but their odd little friendship has persisted over the years.

...

Allen, contrary to public opinion, is absolutely fine and not on the verge of a mental breakdown at all. (His career is nonexistent. He's experiencing Millennial Burnout and it may be fatal. Cross is dead and Mana has been dead for years and Nea is drifting again and he is so, so _tired_.) 

(He has no true skill; he's coasted on natural talent until the last few years, and what little he truly knows is only because Nea taught him how to read sheet music in the first place, because Nea mentored him. And Nea is drifting.)

...

There is no public opinion on Tyki. Nobody forms opinions on bass players unless they play bass, and nobody minds the top hat and makeup in gray-brown contour because the whole band dresses that way. ( _"It's the emo revival, haven't you heard?" "Bet he's covered in track marks under those sleeves. I saw the girl's arms last year- so fuckin'_ _gruesome!"_ ) Which is perfect for the violence of the city's underground. Perfect for the night, when he dresses nondescript and barely ever talks to people, when he gambles away his life and smokes away his body and there are no cameras and he's dead inside just like Skinn was.

There is no public opinion on Tyki, and that suits him fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not be tagging individual triggers for this fic unless asked to for specific ones; assume every chapter includes mentions of drugs, self-harm, and other triggers listed in the tags


	3. a hopeless singer-songwriter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mild character study on my version of Wisely, with some backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Free Real Estate voice) it's executive dysfunction as a direct result of anxiety, depression, probable ADHD, BPD, and not being able to live freely as an autistic trans person in today's world of capitalism and horror :)

It's 4:01 in the morning and Wisely squints at a computer screen. Document title: "untitled fugue #76." He paid for the software himself, and it's worth it in counterpoint.

Sleep: absent. There's a vodka bottle on the bed. There are many things on the bed. He hasn't changed the sheets in weeks, hasn't cleaned the room since November. (He'd know. His memory is perfect.) Old food containers cover the "dirty" side of the room, and the lamp battery died last month.

He is so tired. It's another insomnia kick, and years of this happening haven't made it any easier to deal with.

The first time it happened, it freaked him out- how could it not? He was a teenage "girl" with obligations and a life, middle school about to end and his brain playing constant noise. He powered through it (and that's what he did for years after, until the Incident. He doesn't think about that, even though he remembers it in perfect detail, and) it screamed at him from the inside of his head.

Well, times change. Now, he has friends, people that genuinely like him (probably) and don't scream at him even when they remind him to knock back the pills whenever he goes without sleep for more than three days. ( _89 hours is the limit_ , he told Road. _after that, consider me a zombie_.)

...

Tyki teaches the kids the difference between sharps and naturals today. The community center's classroom is shitty but it gets the job done, and they sit on the edges of their seats because it may be boring but it's better than spending Sunday afternoon at the shelter or going to the park using subway cards they can't afford.

...

The fugue isn't finished. It likely will never be, so Wisely closes the app and reviews mental notes. No pun intended.

Half the items on the list require mental energy, so he picks something easy: looking up the guy the Earl's assigning them to work with.

Allen Walker's iTunes page is full of classics. Berlioz, Beethoven, Brahms. Everything's at least three years old on there- surely an ex-prodigy has more recent music out there, especially the famed protegé of Nea Campbell?

Not so. Walker's BandCamp is similarly empty, with nothing posted after the last studio album. All piano music. Hell, does he even play drums or is the Earl finally going senile?

...

Wisely goes down an internet rabbit hole for the next few hours, because there's nothing to break up the monotony of sleeplessness like curiosity.

...

It's 11:03 at night and Allen's asleep in his apartment. He needs it- the first meeting with The Noah is this afternoon.

...

Finally, he texts Road: _do you know if Walker actually plays drums? i can't find anything online._

She replies with a video. Wisely clicks play.

...

Holy shit, okay, nevermind. The guy can definitely play drums.

    **Dreamgirl** : _ikr?_

Wisely texts back  _what the fuck. what the fuck what the fuck what the aaaaaaaaaa_

 **Dreamgirl:** _Adam knows what hes doing._

 **Dreamgirl:**  i _think_

He frowns. Doesn't respond. Checks the time.

 **Wisely:** _yeah whatevs. taking my pills now, sleep in 2 hours. see ya tomorrow binch_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> although Wisely doesn't show up until later in the anime, he has featured heavily in the manga and he's one of my faves. i headcanon him as mentally ill, and this fic will reflect that; "mindreading" is talked about a bit in the symptoms of various disorders and whatnot, so, yeah.
> 
> i am mentally ill, autistic, and otherwise neurodivergent; i will not presume to write in detail about prejudice applied to marginalized groups i'm not a part of, and this remains so for all my fics. detailed descriptions of mental illness, gender issues, and trauma will reflect my own personal experience. YEET
> 
> meanwhile, check this out: https://www.noteflight.com/scores/view/4650d0b0e490cbc24e5d5dda9961c474a687392f


	4. dead before i'm 30 years old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> honestly, band auditions and record label negotiation are freakin' perilous. what? me, with a criticism of bandfic's general lack of those things, spurred by my personal experiences in the music industry?

Morning brings a ray of yellow light through the gap between Allen's curtains. It also brings the sound of his roommate's voice, angry and blustering. He can vaguely hear a tinny, higher-pitched reply- hm, a phone call, then. Sounds like Alma.

Allen can't quite process the sounds at the moment, nothing more than the outlines of vowels and _s_ sounds in red, and so he doesn't pay it any attention. Instead, he stays in his room to avoid the Grouch and eats four candy bars from his stash. He packs his bag in anticipation of the afternoon, though he won't leave until two.

.

Wisely wakes with his first alarm. He turns that one off, and then the next four after that. He leaves at three; so long as he's up by one, he'll be fine.

.

At nine, Tyki teaches a middle-schooler how to change strings. At ten, he has a cigarette with a latte on the side. At eleven, he attempts to explain the circle of fifths to a group of ninth graders. This is the last day of the semester, and he does not intend to teach again.

At two in the afternoon, he smokes half a pack and drinks enough coffee to kill.

(He's a responsible, adult, dammit.)

.

Road has a burner phone in her bag. She has makeup. She has a few neat little hidden weapons, but no one has to know about that. After all, vigilantism is illegal, as is murder, and she knows better than to land her bandmates in jail.

(Today's victim used to run a child traffikking ring downtown. She guts him, slowly, and drips candle wax into the wounds.) It's a beautiful day.

.

Adam Millennium, also known as the Millennium Earl, arrives at the studio bright and early. He'll make them get along if it's the last thing he does.

.

Nea Campbell is in rehab. His record label is disbanded. His former protegé, according to their weekly phone call, is signing onto a band managed by his rival/lover.

He stares at the breakfast tray in front of him and wishes hospital food were better. Wishes that the orange juice were something stronger.

.

Tyki greets Adam with a nod of his head, before the Earl pulls him into a hug. "Oh, none of that," he chuckles, "it's been too long!"

"I thought we'd discussed the whole no-hugs thing. Repeatedly." Tyki's still squished, and extricating himself is taking far too long.

"Right." And they sit in silence.

Wisely enters the room and lays his head down on the table.

Road comes in next. "Sup, fuckers." A peace sign to Wisely and Adam, and her middle finger to Tyki. "Someone didn't answer any of my texts."

"Road, I have no desire to look at Harry Potter memes."

"Hah. If you'd checked, you'd know I sent you all videos of Walker performing."

Wisely lifts up his head. "Yeah, about that- where and when was that video taken? Why isn't any of this online?"

Road's smirk is a little terrifying, not that Tyki will admit it. The fact that she smells like blood doesn't help. "I took the videos myself. He filled in. You know that group The Dark Boots, or whatever they're calling themselves now?"

"Frontwoman's a chick with blue hair, right?" Tyki asks, drawn into the conversation despite himself. "Wait, isn't their drummer the blind guy who works in that one bar we played at?"

"Yeppers. Marie or Mario or whatever couldn't make it. I wasn't even planning on going to the show, but I was in the area- fucking Harlem, right?"

"I like Harlem."

"You live there, duh."

They sit in silence again.

At four o'clock, there's a knock on the door, which Adam gets up to open.

.

Tyki's first thought: _that can't be right_. Is he seriously going to be working with the fucker who cheated him at cards?

The kid who apparently is Allen Walker looks over all of them, eyes lingering a moment on Tyki- or are they?- before shaking hands with Adam. "Sorry if I'm late," he says, "Got a bit lost on the way. I'm not usually in this part of Brooklyn."

Road pipes up, because of course she does. "We were just about to watch this Vine compiliation." No, they weren't. "What? It's a good conversation opener!"

"So, Allen," Wisely cuts in. "We all knew of you, of course, but only from the classical side of things. Adam here recommended you, but I have to ask- how long have you actually been playing drums?"

"Since I was a teenager. Not nearly as long as piano, of course."

"Hmm. You can read sheet music for drums, right?" Road asks.

He nods.

"We can do an informal audition after this," she says. "Oh, I wanted to tell you- there are a couple ground rules. No drinking or drugs during or before shows. That's a basic one, of course," she laughs, "I'm sure your mentor would have told you- what was his name again?"

.

Tyki winces in sympathy at the barbs, but it's never not funny when Road has her metaphorical knives out. (Not the literal ones. Those are fucking terrifying.)

.

They tune their instruments and pretend not to look at Walker turning the sticks in his hands.

.

They fucking shred it. Walker's a fucking incredible drummer, even with the shitty fake sheet music they gave him. He just plays along, not really needing it, and by the end of it Wisely mutters "I think that's it" into the mic and they give him a nod.

He reads over the contract by himself, without a lawyer, and signs it.

.

Wisely corners him, after: "Road can be a bit abrasive, sorry- ugh, I don't even know what's going on with Tyki today, usually he talks more. Anyway, we're all pretty close-knit, and we're glad that you'll be working with us. Um, so, with the whole drugs-and-alcohol thing, we're all still a bit affected, and we've all dealt with mental stuff at various points, y'know- I mean, I'll probablt be dead before I'm thirty," he chuckles awkwardly. "Um, anyway. If you ever need to vent or whatnot, especially with the thing with Campbell, the whole band is-"

"I'm sure they can speak for themselves." And Allen Walker turns and walks to the subway station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be a vaguely angsty Poker Pair bandfic. now Allen and Kanda are roommates, there are rival bands, and Road is a serial killer. what next? i have no mcfreakin' clue
> 
> Road will be nicer soon. probably.

**Author's Note:**

> i honestly don't have a plan for this fic. it started off as a meet-cute oneshot based on a few irl interactions, but life is weird and art imitates it.


End file.
